I tell you that I am a loaded pistol. I am full of bullets, and each one that explodes will hit you, and you will feel the detonation of my mind and everything else that rages within me. Through my veins run gunpowder, and my vocal chords are made of matches.
But you don’t care. You’ll trace your fingers down my spine until you feel me soften. You’ll press your warm lips to every cold inch of myself. You run your hands through my tangled hair until I sigh into covers. You let me seethe in my own silence as my mind torments me, but you’ll leave your hand on my knee. You’ll hold me tighter as I shake and shudder in my sleep. You’ll let me rest my head on your chest while you work, just because you know I love the sound of your heart.